Into the Woods
by Shauna2
Summary: "The Forest hides many secrets." ~ Ronan the Centaur. When Voldemort attacks, Harry wonders whether he's been sent into the forest as protection, or in order to face an even greater evil. Harry/Ron.
1. Default Chapter

Into the Woods 

* 

_ "... even as fifth years, we suspected the incompetence of the Ministry of Magic was deliberate. It was only after the Dementors and prisoners of Azkaban joined Voldemort that the wider wizarding community realized this and Cornelius Fudge was forced from power. By the time official acknowledgement of Voldemort's return was made, a low-grade terror pervaded even Hogwarts." _

"While many gratefully embraced the iron-fisted rule of the newly elected Minister Amos Diggory, the father of the first casualty in the Second Rise, I feared that his tactics - the reauthorization of Unforgivable Curses for Aurors, trials closed to press and public, Muggle-style execution of uncooperative Death Eater suspects - were as bad as those of Voldemort." 

"My worst fears were confirmed when Remus Lupin, one of many supposedly 'dark' creatures confined by the ministry, was 'accidentally' pierced by a silver sword during interrogation and died of his wound." 

~ "The (Second) Rise and Fall of Voldemort"_, an eyewitness account by Hermione Granger_

* 

It looked so harmless in the early afternoon sunlight. Harry had seen a lot of things - basilisks and trolls, grims and dragons - and the great green forest that stretched before him didn't rate so much as a nervous shiver. The tall, fresh-leaved maples and oaks that gathered together at the forest's edge looked almost friendly. They didn't even whomp. 

Of course, by his seventh year, Harry knew better than to judge something by how it looked. Tom Riddle had once seemed to be an honest, handsome boy, but he had grown to be a snake-faced deciever, the most evil person Harry'd ever known. Cornelius Fudge had appeared as a kind, bumbling, grandfatherly old man, but he had caused more damage to the cause of the good than anyone but Voldemort himself. 

Harry glanced to his right and saw his friend Ron Weasley staring up at the forest, his mouth opened slightly, his fingers clutching tightly onto a tattered maroon pack. 

When you met Ron, he came off as a none too intelligent, typical teenaged boy, obsessed with Quidditch and unable to be serious about anything else. But that wasn't Ron at all. Ron was loyal, brave, and even clever, though he wouldn't admit it - and beneath that untidy mop of red hair was a mind Harry valued as much as his own. 

And so Harry trusted Ron, but not the forest. Not at all. Hermione had looked it up in a book, and Dumbledore had acknowledged it. People died in there. 

So of course, Dumbledore was sending them in. To the Forbidden Forest. The **Forbidden** Forest. 

No, it didn't make sense. Making sense wasn't what Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was about. 

"Guess we'd better go in, then," Ron muttered, turning to look at Harry and catching his gaze. "Ready?" 

Harry nodded and together they pushed through a light layer of underbrush and started along the first path they came across. 

Harry was grateful for his and Ron's earlier escapades, for the first part of their trek took them through a familiar section of the forest. A little too familiar, actually - he saw Ron's face pale when he recognized the path to Aragog's den. Ron didn't say anything, though. Just pushed on. 

It was this quiet spectacle of bravery that kept Harry from reminding Ron that they were supposed to be identifying plants and animals as they went along. Ron hadn't even made an overture towards his parchment. 

"I expect we'll be past it soon," Harry said, knowing what was in Ron's thoughts. Ron muttered something back, and quickened his pace. Harry was left a few steps behind, and to his own musings. 

It was, Harry reflected, quite ironic that after years of being banned from the Forest they now had to travel through it on pain of failing grades. Well, that wasn't exactly true - the trip was voluntary - but most of the Professors had made it clear that anyone who was brave enough to choose the Forest was wizard enough to pass. 

_"Think about it, Harry," the Headmaster said. "Charms for protection, potions for endurance or sickness, transfiguration for emergencies, Astronomy for direction - and of course Herbology and Magical Creatures just for being in there." His face became thoughtful. "Although, there's really nothing for History of Magic. Ah, well, I guess we'll have to stir you up a goblin rebellion in the village."_

Harry had laughed uneasily, sure there was more to it than the Headmaster was willing to say. A bit of research by Hermione showed that there hadn't been a completely hands-on exam like this in fifty years. Why should the practice just happen to resume when he, Harry Potter, made it into seventh year? Dumbledore professed ignorance, though with a twinkle in his eye. 

The prospect of entering the forest grew even more bleak when Hermione did a bit of research. 

_"Listen to this," she said, her eyes wide with astonishment and the beginnings of fear. She read aloud from _Hogwarts, A History_, which was propped up in her lap. "'Sending students into the Hogwarts Forest as a test before leaving the school was common practice until the disappearance and presumed death of a student in 1945. Due to widespread concern, the tradition was ceased immediately, and further exploration prohibited. Instead, a series of individual exams called the Nastily Exhaustive Wizarding Tests was instituted." _

Harry and Ron exchanged worried glances. Hermione, after taking a deep breath to calm herself, continued. "'There have been some studies as to the nature of the Forest, most notably by one Manish Sidtha, a renowned Auror-Herbologist from India. After leading an expedition into the woods he pronounced a higher concentration of agressive plants and Dark animals than nearly anywhere else in the world. Sidtha gave this reasoning: 'Hogwarts School is one of the most protected places on Earth. The magic needed to maintain the school draws magical creatures both light and dark - only the light ones take classes and the dark ones must wait in the forest, beyond the shields and charms made long ago by the founders. It is a balancing of power.'" 

Harry had faced terrible things before. Not just dangerous creatures and slavering beasts, but also men - people so frightened of death they would kill their own friends to avoid it, people so hungry for power that they would sacrifice their own children to it. It was the warmth and wonder of Hogwarts that kept Harry sane through it all. Could he really travel through a place as horrible as Hogwarts was great? 

On the other hand, Harry couldn't imagaine the Headmaster sending him where he might be attacked by dark wizards, so he accepted the assignment, with misgivings. His biggest was that they'd have to go in pairs. In pairs! That was an awkward night, he and Ron and Hermione sitting at the fire in the common room, knowing that they couldn't complete the last of their schooling together. 

In the end, Harry asked Ron to be his partner, though he winced for his grade. He knew he would enjoy the time more if he spent it with Ron. It also freed Hermione to go with Neville, who was going to need all the help he could get. His memory problems and clumsiness grew steadily worse as the pressures on him mounted. But Neville, like Harry and Ron, was not going to let himself back down. 

And so they had set off, each pair a day apart, so there would be little chance of sabotage or cheating. It made Harry nervous that Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were only a day ahead of them, and relieved that Hermione and Neville were but a day behind. 

Harry quickened his steps and caught up with his friend, trying not to trip over the grasses and tree-roots. Ron's long legs made him twice as fast as Harry, and when he wasn't paying attention, his gait made it quite hard for Harry to keep up. 

"So," Harry said conversationally, though his tone was hitched as he tried to catch his breath. He thought back to something Hermione had said to him. "I imagine we're like the first wizards, walking through the primeval forest with nothing but magic to protect us." 

"Yes, like the very first wizards, lugging along our Remembralls and Exploding Snaps," Ron said sarcastically. "You sound like Hermione." 

Ignoring the dig - mostly because it was true - Harry asked, "You brought Exploding Snap?" 

"Well, I imagine even in a big, monster-filled forest, we'll get bored. Besides, it's probably good for scaring away small animals, which is not something that can be said for my chess set." 

"You didn't bring that with you, Ron?" 

Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course not, Harry. Though what we're going to do for, what is it, four days, is beyond me." 

"Erm," said Harry. "I believe that's what the parchment and the list of plants is for." 

"Oh, right," Ron said, digging into his pack. "Say, what did you bring?" 

"Nothing that entertaining," Harry replied. "The supplies we're supposed to have. My Invisibility Cloak. And my wand, of course." 

"What about sleeping rolls?" Ron asked. 

"I figured I could just magic them." 

"Harry, you dolt!" Ron exclaimed. "And what's going to keep them from disappearing once you've fallen asleep?" 

Harry groaned. It was the type of mistake that Muggle-raised wizards often made for lack of wizarding instinct - although Harry would bet ten galleons that Hermione hadn't forgotten. 

"I..." The prospect of sleeping on the hard, dirty ground didn't entice him - but then, it would really only be a problem once he woke up. "Eh - I'll manage." 

Ron jerked a finger at his own pack, which was overflowing with a pale blue material. "I'll manage better," he joked. 

"What is that?" Harry asked. 

"It's a Corporating Cot. We have a couple of them back home, for when family comes to visit. You should've told me, Harry, I would've owled mum and got you one." 

"What's it do?" 

"You just cast a spell on it and it gets real large, big enough to sleep on, and filled with this fluffy stuff, too. It's specially made, so it doesn't go away when you fall asleep. Well - if I can make it big enough, we can share it." 

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said warmly. 

"No problem, mate," Ron replied, then looked away. Something caught his eyes further off into the forest. "Say, isn't that a jobberknoll?" 

"Hey, I think you're right!" Harry exclaimed, surprised that it was Ron and not he who had made the first sighting. "I mean, it doesn't seem to be making any sound." 

Ron had stopped to stare at the bird, a strange expression on his face. It wasn't that he seemed enchanted by the jobberknoll's dingy blue feathers, but rather he was looking past it. Harry waited a moment, watching his friend's brow furrow, until he asked, impatiently, "Yes?" 

"Oh?" Ron said, as if he was being pulled back from far away. "What?" 

"What were you thinking?" Harry asked. 

"Just that - well, you remember the lessons. That jobberknoll won't speak 'til right before it dies, and then it's like a bloody listening charm. Wouldn't that be great for spying?" 

"I wonder if Dumbledore's thought of that," Harry replied, knowing that the seemingly senile Headmaster had a mind as devious as any Weasley's. "It's a good idea." 

"Yeah, 'cept you'd have to kill it," Ron replied. "I think it's more along You-Know-Who's line." 

And then he turned and continued walking into the forest, unaware of the odd stare Harry was giving him. Ron had been saying things like that a lot lately - "Do you see that, Harry, we could use it against You-Know-Who!" - "Whose side do you think that porky Ravenclaw would be on?" - "Say, Harry, do you think this flobberworm would be a good weapon if You-Know-Who attacked?" 

It was like Hermione, only more random and more amusing. 

Ron obviously thought that he didn't help their group enough, had implied often enough that Harry had all the talent and Hermione had all the knowledge and what was he good for? He didn't say it in so many words, but his eyes did. 

As Ron went ahead, Harry held back, on the pretense of looking for plants, but he was really studying Ron. Under the high forest branches, the evening sun was sparse, but where it beamed through the umbrella of leaves it seemed drawn to Ron's red head. It was almost unnatural, like there was a halo around his hair - although that was an angelic image broken up every time Ron raised his hands to his eyes and muttered about the "bloody blinding light". 

It pained Harry that he could never tell what was going on in Ron's mind anymore. Back when they were younger, it was easy - he knew Ron was in love with Hermione even before Ron did. He knew when he was happy, or angry, or sad. He knew it from the way he spoke and the changing of his eyes and his mad, emphatic gestures. Harry had been confident - he knew Ron as well as he knew himself. 

But then - when he thought everything was going well - Ron and Hermione had suddenly and completely broken up, and now Ron's eyes were guarded, to hide the pain, Harry guessed. 

He'd always known Ron had a great poker face. He just never dreamed that he would use it on his friends. 

Ron glanced back at him and threw him a lopsided grin. "Hurry up, Harry," he called. "Seamus said we'd get extra points for making it to the village early." 

Harry deliberately slowed his pace, swinging his hips in a leisurely stroll. Ron laughed at him, asking between chuckles, "And who are you supposed to be?" 

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry replied. He brough his thumb and forefinger to his nose and pinched it shut, saying, "this forenst is just tooh dirty for mny taste, thag you very much." 

"Seriously, though, Harry," said Ron, when his laughter subsided. "We're going to need all the points we can get." 

"Wait," Harry objected. "What does Seamus know about any of this? He's taking the written test." 

"Yeah, and you know why!" said Ron, grinning. 

Harry blinked. "Why?" 

"Don't tell me you think it's a coincidence that he and Lavender both decided to take the other test!" Ron exclaimed. "Which means you get to use ol' Hogwarts library, eat in the ol' Hogwarts dining hall, and - sleep in ol' Hogwarts conveniently empty seventh year dorms." 

"What?" 

Ron threw up his hands, exasperated. "If you didn't get that, Harry, I'm not going to explain it to you." Suddenly his eyebrow quirked up, a thoughtful expression coming on to his face. "I wonder what Dean and Pavarti will do with their roommates otherwise - erm, occupied." 

" - oh," Harry blushed. Part of him was furious with himself - honestly, he was seventeen years old, he shouldn't be embarassed by the thoughts of his classmates having sex! The other part of himself - which sounded suspiciously like Hermione - was inwardly questioning why anyone would risk bad grades just for a little extra snogging and shagging. "Say," he said, trying to get the attention off himself. "I thought you and Pavarti might - have a thing?" 

"Me and Pavarti?" Ron said. "Nah. I couldn't stand a girl who giggles when she kisses." 

"Ah," said Harry, once again reduced to making inarticulate noises in order to hold up his part of the conversation. "So it doesn't have anything to do with why you and Hermione - " 

Ron turned to him, eyes narrowed, and Harry faltered. 

"Well, it's just - never mind." 

"No," said Ron firmly. "Tell me." 

Harry grabbed a weed as they walked by some overgrown undergrowth, fiddling it with his fingers. "It's not - really fair of me to ask. It's your business, your's and Hermione's. It's only that we always tell eachother everything." 

"Do we really?" Ron replied, his voice soft and strange. Harry was just about to ask him what he meant when Ron cried, "Harry! Your hands!" 

Harry looked down and realize that the plant he had plucked to play with was now playing with **him**. Tendrils of the weed were wrapping themselves around his fingers, binding them together, almost as though it were an elaborate pair of handcuffs. "But - but - how is it still alive?" 

"I don't know!" Ron cried, hurriedly reaching into his pack. The plant didn't look very dangerous, but you never knew when that could change. After a moment he came out with his wand, pointed it at Harry's hands, and cried, "Stupefy!" 

The world went black. 

Harry woke up a few moments later with a pain in his head, a warmth on his cheek, and a slimy feeling between his fingers. He looked up at Ron, who was pocketing his wand, his face scarlet. 

"What - what happened?" 

"I - er, accidentally stunned you as well as the plant. I couldn't catch you in time and you fell. And I decided to take off that bloody plant before I innervated you." Ron wiped one of his hands on his robes, and drew the other across his mouth. His face was still flaming. "I'm sorry, Harry." 

"No harm done," Harry replied, feeling the bruise that was forming on the back of his head and thinking that was not quite the case. Still, Ron obviously felt badly about it. "What do you think we should do about the plant?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well," reasoned Harry, "it's obviously magical. But we don't know it's name." 

"Er - maybe we'll have a chance to look in the library before we hand our parchments in. We can research it." 

Harry nodded. "Good idea." 

They continued on their way in companionable silence, which was broken only when one of them spotted a plant or an animal that seemed magical enough to write down. But even the Muggle plants were beautiful, if not as spectacular - the towering trees with their dark green leaves, the grass that swayed in the breezes which penetrated the forest. As the sun was setting, leaving the fauna in elegant shadow, Harry looked around and said, "You know, this is really peaceful. It doesn't seem like schoolwork at all." 

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Peaceful." 

Harry laughed. "Ron, between Quidditch and the Burrow, I doubt you know what peaceful means." _And between eleven years with the Dursleys and seven battling Voldemort, I doubt I know what peace means, either._

Ron saw the bitterness in his face and said, haltingly, "Harry - " 

But Harry didn't want to be pitied. He waved the depressing thought - and Ron's concern - aside. "I think this is a good spot to set up camp," he said. "Don't you?" 

"I - yes." Ron tossed his pack to the ground and looked around the spot Harry had chosen. "So what do you want to do first?" 

"Um... why don't you get your Corporating Cot set up, and get some food out, while I try to start a fire?" 

Ron complied wordlessly, rumaging in his pack. Harry walked around, gathering sticks together, and then as much dry tinder as he could find. He **could** just do the a spell right away, but it would probably work better with some actual wood to burn off of. It might even last them the whole night. He piled the sticks, pointed his wand, and muttered, "Incendio!" A fire burst to life. 

He nearly fell into the flames, startled, when Ron put a hand on his shoulder. After he had regained his balance, he turned to Ron and said, accusingly, "You did that on purpose." 

Ron smiled innocently. "Meat or beans?" 

"Whichever you want," Harry replied, wrinkling his nose. "**I've** mastered the smell-blocking charm." 

"Harry, you prat," Ron shoved him playfully, "I don't want to know what you're implying." 

"Ron, you git," Harry laughed, "it's not **implied**." 

Harry turned away before Ron could find a good comeback, heading towards the edge of their clearing. "I'm just going to get some more sticks so we don't have to feed the fire all night." 

Ron gazed uneasily after him, obviously discomforted by the deepening shadows. It was nearly pitch black out there, and they hadn't the light of the stars to alleviate it. Harry ignored the slight fear of the dark that persisted in him after so many years spent in the utter blackness of a locked cupboard. He ignored the tingling of his senses, the jumpiness of his nerves. Just as he bent down to scoop up some more wood, he heard a growl behind him. 

"Ron!" he called, as he was pushed onto the ground. There was the feel of something sharp cut across his back. He scrambled out from beneath it, reaching for his wand, shouting again, "RON!" 

In the darkness he could just make out three pairs of eyes, and over the pounding of his heart he heard a sort of slavering, hungry sound. It jumped again, sinking it's teeth into his robes, and leg, and arm. It caught mostly cloth, but the last set of jaws scraped his arms, sending a searing pain across his skin and causing him to gasp and drop his wand. He jerked out of it's grasp, bring his other hand around to swat at the beast, crying out desperately, "Ron, please! Ron!" 

"I'm here, Harry," Ron said, but it was too dark to see him. His voice sounded near, and panicked. "What is it?" 

"It's a dog of some sort," Harry said, "can't you see its eyes? It's got three sets of them! I think it's some wild cousin of Fluffy's." 

"I can't see it!" exclaimed Ron, frustrated. He mumbled something, and sparks flew out of his wand, lighting the clearing. "Where's your wand?" 

Harry didn't bother answering, just dove to where he'd spotted it on the ground. Then he backed up, saying nervously, "Where'd it go?" 

Ron looked just as uneasy. "I don't know. Maybe it's gone back to wherever it came - " 

He didn't get a chance to finish, as a black shape burst out of the bushes behind him and knocked him to the ground. "Argh!" shouted Ron. "Harry, help!" 

"Incendio!" Harry cried, hoping he wouldn't hit Ron. To his relief, the howl of pain was definitely nonhuman. The dog released Ron and bounded off, presumably to the nearest stream, its cries echoing as he left. Harry fell to his knees beside Ron, who lay unmoving on the ground. "Are you all right, Ron? Say something! Ron!" 

"Well," said Ron, opening his eyes, a dazed but amiable expression on his face. "What would you like me to say? I'm a bit tired of being dragged around by dogs, no matter how many heads they have." 

Harry sat back on his heels, breathing a sigh of relief. "I can't believe they sent us out there with - that **thing**." 

Ron sat up slowly. "Our fault. We should've been more careful. I mean, these are the NEWTs - nasty is in the title. Besides," he added, inspecting himself, "no blood. Just a little sore." 

"Unbelievable," said Harry, rubbing his own arm, which was scraped but not bleeding either. "Absolutely unbelievable!" 

"I am, aren't I?" 

"No, I mean Dumbledore. What if we couldn't stop that beast? What if you'd got hurt?" 

"Hey," Ron said, "calm down. I'm fine." 

Harry stood up abruptly to go back to the clearing. Ron followed him, puzzled. He watched as the smaller boy paced back and forth, a deep frown etched into his face. Finally, Ron asked, "Knut for your thoughts?" 

"I'm thinking," Harry said slowly, "that they just couldn't do it. It's too dangerous." 

"Do what?" 

"Send us out here," explained Harry. "What's the likelihood that Dumbledore's going to protect me from Voldemort for seven years and then let me get eaten by a mad dog?" 

"Not very likely?" Ron offered. 

"Right. So I bet - I just bet - that there's someone watching us." 

Ron glanced nervously into the shadows. "What do you mean?" 

"I bet that the teachers are keeping an eye on us." 

"How?" 

"I don't know," Harry said, considering. "Well, McGonagall can transfigure herself into a cat to watch us. And, erm, they might have Invisibility Cloaks. And - and they can just apparate in and out real quickly, from place to place, so they needn't all be out at once." 

"I hate to be the one to say this, Harry, but I've been around Hermione too long not to point out that you **can't** apparate on Hogwarts grounds." 

"But is the forest part of Hogwarts?" Harry asked. "It doesn't show up on the map Fred and George gave me. Not most of it, anyway. Maybe all the teacher's have to do is walk a bit in and then they can apparate, and follow us all they please." 

Ron shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. But probably not as good as Hermione's. If you're right, she's probably already figured it out. She's probably found, caught, and squeezed extra points out of a teacher." 

"We can do it, I know we - " 

A familiar growl pierced the air. This time it sounded far away, but Ron still paled. "Eh, Harry? Why don't we try to set up a shield first? Before we, well, get eaten." 

"But if they're teachers - " 

"You know what, Harry?" Ron said firmly, "I'd rather not put this little theory of yours to the test." 

Harry nodded. "Okay, what should we do?" 

"Maybe... maybe... a permanent shield charm?" Ron suggested. 

"Will it hold once we're asleep?" 

"We could take turns sleeping," Ron replied. "Although I hate to think how much our grades are gonna suffer if we spend the whole time on a half-night's sleep." 

"Hey," said Harry suddenly, smiling. "Why don't you go ahead and make those beans?" 

"What?" Ron asked, confused. "What are you **talking** about?" 

"I'm talking about a smell-blocking charm. And a silencing spell. And maybe even a confundus charm while we're at it. If we put my Invisibility Cloak over us, nothing going to see, smell, or hear us." 

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "Why don't you do that, while I make us some dinner?" 

"I will," said Harry, smiling devilishly. "You know, Ron, you'd make an excellent housewife." 

"What!" cried Ron, startled. 

"Why don't you cook us our meal while I, the manly man, protect us with magic?" 

"Don't let Hermione hear you say that," Ron muttered, while Harry fired off in quick succession, 'Silentium!' 'Desinidor!' and then aiming his wand towards the darkest, scariest parts of the forest, 'Confundo! Confundo!' 

He turned back to Ron, who had gotten a shrunken container of beans from his pack and magicked it back to it's propper size. He looked lost as to what to bake them in, though. 

"Finite Incantatum," Harry said, then asked, "What's wrong?" 

"Haven't got anything to cook it in," Ron replied. 

Harry thought for a moment. "I know! Accio cooking pan!" he cried, concentrating hard on the dishware he remembered in the Hogwarts kitchens. The two boys waited. Nothing came. "Maybe one of the teacher's stopped it? Or it got caught in the trees?" 

"I guess we can just magic one here. As long as we don't take too long to eat, it should last," Ron reasoned. "'Kay, you can put the shields back up." 

Harry redid the charms. 

He found himself a log, where he sat and watched Ron as the other boy placed the beans in the magicked pot, using his wand to stir them and adding to the fire from the pile of wood Harry had gathered. Kneeling so close to the fire, he began to sweat - first faint drops of persperation only faintly visible in the shadowy light, then a thick sheen that began to dampen his robes. Harry thought for a moment, then went to his pack, where he found a piece of cloth and quickly undid the shields so he could mutter, 'Frigus!' 

Coming around the fire so Ron would see him and not be startled, he placed the chilled cloth on his friend's neck, pleased to see the relieved smile that crossed his face. The words 'thank you' formed on Ron's lips. 

Harry returned to his perch. Making beans was not difficult, even the Muggle way, and Ron quickly had their dinner ready. He walked over to where Harry was sitting, handed his the pot, making sure Harry gripped the handle by pretending to touch the metal and drawing his hand back as if he were burned. Handing Harry a spoon, he took one of his own, and dug in. 

Harry found the whole experience odd, to put it mildly. The beans tasted different, probably because he couldn't smell them. He guessed it was because tongues and noses were connected - or at least Hermione had said something of the sort. He and Ron kept banging their spoons together, as without cups they needed to share the pot. For a little while they made a game of it, trying to knock eachother's spoons away, protecting the beans as though they were gold. After a bit, though, they settled down to the serious task of eating, only every so often glancing up to look at eachother. 

It was strange, to eat with Ron and yet be so silent. Usually they talked about Quidditch or insulted Slytherins between bites of food, yet now they could communicate only with their eyes. But Ron was not meeting his - he gazed off into the distance while chewing his food, the flickering light wreaking havoc with the lines of his face. Depending on the subtle slant of his head, he was young or old, blissful or hardened, happy or unaccountably sad. Harry couldn't take his eyes from the strange effect. 

Then suddenly Ron turned to look at him, jaw clenched but his gaze full of, for some reason, hope. After a moment he whispered something that was lost in the barriers Harry had set. 

"What did you say?" Harry asked, but of course Ron couldn't hear him either. After a moment's hesitation, he undid that particular spell, and repeated his question. 

"I can't see your eyes," Ron replied quietly. "I wish I could but I - it's just the flames in your glasses. I can't - can't talk to you this way. Silentium." He finished, slamming the silence back down, and he stood up and left the fire. 

Harry stood to follow him, confused and upset, and did not see whoever it was that took him from behind and knocked him out. 

* 

He blinked, once, twice. The bruise that had already been plaguing his head was now aching to the bone. He looked up to see Ron staring at him anxiously. 

"What happened?" he asked, glad that the silence spell had been taken off. "What - " 

"Are you all right?" Ron interupted. He waved his hand in front of Harry's face. "How many fingers am I holding up?" 

"All six of them," Harry said impatiently. "What's going on? Who attacked me?" 

Inexplicably, Ron's face broke into a wicked grin. He rumaged around where Harry couldn't see, then held up a heavy metal pan. "Meet your attacker. Yes, that's right, it's a pot. A Dark pot. I think it serves the enemy." 

Ron smiled at his own wit, but Harry could only shake his head. Which caused it to rather hurt. He moaned. 

Ron's smile faded. "I think you'd better go to bed, Harry. It's late, and staying up isn't going to do your head any good." 

Harry thought about protesting, then acquiesed. "Have we figured out what I'm going to sleep on?" 

Ron seemed worried. "We already decided that, Harry. Don't you remember? We'll make my Corporating Cot really big and spread your Invisibility Cloak over us." 

"Do you really mind? Sharing the bed, I mean?" 

"Sure. I do it all the time. I mean - sometimes when my family goes visiting, me and Fred and George have to go three to a bed. And before that, mum and dad used to let me sleep with them... " his voice trailed off as he noticed the wistful look on Harry's face. "I'm sorry." 

"Not your fault," Harry said, with some effort. He pushed the painful thoughts out of his mind, wishes he could do the same with his headache. "C'mon, Ron. Let's go to bed." 

* 

_ Draco Malfoy was tired, dirty, and damned cold. His normally perfectly groomed blond hair was streaked with mud and his robes had dried stiff with water from the river he'd fallen into. Although fallen was too nice a word for it. 'Pushed into by a jealous bitch' was more like it. _

He said nothing, though. It was far better to be hated for rejecting Pansy Parkinson than to be hated for rejecting the Dark Lord. Despite Dumbledore's trust in the girl, Draco had his own suspicions, even if he was not fool enough to voice them. He bit his tongue and, for once, controlled his pride. He looked down at her as she said the incantaion to start a fire, his mouth curled in a silent sneer. 

Spontaneously dunking Malfoy had been enjoyable to Pansy, but she aimed much higher. She, too, kept her feelings hidden, until her rage could work to her advantage. 

The hands that Draco had never allowed to pleasure him, would hurt him. The lips that he had kissed but twice before turning to another girl, would say the words that would betray him. The dark mark hidden below his robes would soon be burned onto hers. 

Draco watched his one-time girlfriend and fellow Slytherin as she tended the fire, then looked away into the darkness of the forest. It was safer out there, he knew, than by the light. He longed for the comfort of the shadows. 

"Pansy - " he began. 

"Yes, Draco?" she asked, turning to him, pointing her wand to his chest. 

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, reaching carefully for his own wand. It wasn't there. His calmness quickly turned to panic. "What are you **doing**?" he asked again. 

"I'm seving my Lord, by capturing Harry Potter. And his friends." 

"I'm not his friend. You know that, Pansy. I'd rather befriend a Muggle," Draco spat. 

"Haven't you?" 

"Don't make this about that," Draco warned her. He thought quickly, trying to find an excuse while looking for a weapon and keeping his expression blank. "This is about Potter. And no one hates him more than I do." 

Pansy giggled. It was an absurd sound, coming from someone who was about to kill him. "Professor Snape hates him more." This was also ridiculous - who called their enemies 'Professor'? "And Professor Snape is on his side, the lying bastard." 

Draco could bear a lot of things without protesting. He'd once been tortured for five full minutes, without screaming for his parents to save him. But then, that was it, wasn't it? That he'd been tortured and his parents had merely watched? 

It was Severus Snape who gave him the potion to stop the pain. Severus Snape who sat by his bedside when he'd had nightmares of being under Crucatious. Severus Snape who had convinced him of what was wrong, and what was right, and what he was meant to do. 

"That's rich," he laughed, "coming from a lying bitch." 

Her eyes narrow. Her face flamed. She raised her wand and began to curse. 

"Think what my father will do to the person who kills his only son - " 

Pansy paused. "Think what your father will do to you when he finds out you betrayed him. I'm really doing you a favor." 

Then she smiled. 

"Avada Kedavara." 

* 


	2. Chapter Two

Into the Woods 

* 

_ "It is a common Muggle saying that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'. As a guiding principle it is fraught with fallacies, yet there have been a few times when I've found it to be true. On those rare occasions, I discovered some of my most trusted allies..." _

"When a fouled assasination attempt on Albus Dumbledore caused Lucius Malfoy to flee the Ministry, he left behind his wife and son to pay for his crimes. Severus Snape, a professor of mine at Hogwarts and a Death Eater turned spy, came forward and testified to Narcissa Malfoy's innocence. While Narcissa was actually guilty - a fact known only to her husband and Voldemort himself - Snape's actions brought him Draco Malfoy's goodwill." 

"Draco's help proved invaluable in stopping the so-called 'Slytherin Uprising', a Young Death Eater plan to kill Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore which ended with the expulsion of nearly a third of all Slytherin sixth and seventh years, and the deaths of Hannah Abbot, Eloise Midgen, and Vincent Crabbe." 

"While this caused many concerned parents to withdraw their students, Hogwarts was actually a great deal safer than it had been for a long time. We experienced a period of relative calm which allowed us to focus on coursework, Quidditch, and personal relationships..." 

~ "The (Second) Rise and Fall of Voldemort"_, an eyewitness account by Hermione Granger_

* 

The morning air was cold - or at least, cold for Britain in May. 

Harry groaned and tugged the Cloak back over his forehead, burrowing back into the comfy little space where his and Ron's shared breath warmed them both. Still shivering a bit, he pulled at the Cloak, wrapping it around his side. 

Ron pulled it back. 

Frustrated, Harry tried again, more gently, bringing the it over to his side bit by bit. Just when he had got enough to keep him warm, Ron yawned and grabbed it all to himself again, curling around it reflexively. 

When Harry for the third time tried for the larger portion of the Cloak, and was repulsed, he growled in frustration. Hearing his voice, and smelling a figurative rat, he simply said, "Ron." 

Ron rolled over and smiled at him, blinking but awake. 

"You know, you're much better company when you're in a separate bed," Harry informed him. 

"Oh, really?" Ron replied, his voice husky and unused. He cleared his throat. "And who was it who kept hogging all the blankets?" 

"You." 

Ron shook his head. "Littler people get littler portions. **Your** feet weren't sticking out in the cold all night." 

"It's not my fault you have big feet," Harry replied. 

Ron's eyes flashed dangerously, but the quirk of his lips signalled his amusement. "Would you like to sleep on the ground?" 

"No?" Harry answered meekly. 

"You want to get up?" 

"No." This time Harry was more firm. 

"Then come closer," Ron commanded. "We'll fit under it better." 

Harry wiggled over to his friend, the wand's width distance they had kept during the night shrinking down to the length of a fist. He relaxed for a moment, then tensed again, overcome with the feeling of being watched. That was - well. What else was there for Ron to look at, huddled beneath the Cloak as they were? 

Eventually Harry became comfortable, and almost fell asleep. He barely noticed when Ron heaved a sigh and rose from the bed, only felt the slight shaking of the Cot and the fact that the Cloak was his to snuggle in. He forgot that they were trying to make good time for their NEWTs, that he shouldn't leave Ron to do all the packing, that there was really any world besides the bed... 

"Sleepyhead!" a voice spoke in his ear. Harry jerked, startled, and with a cry of dismay fell out of the bed. 

Ron stood towering over him. "I didn't know that would happen," he said, amused. He pointed his wand at the Corporating Cot and shrank it down before Harry could scramble back in it. 

Harry muttered something nasty about Ron, involving the exact species of his ancestors and the failings of his grooming habits, which only made his friend smile more. "Wow - " he said. "That's really creative, Harry." 

"I'll show you creative," Harry growled, lunging at Ron. Grabbing him around the waist, he pulled him to the ground, trying to reach along his sides to tickle him. Ron leaned over and stuck a hand in Harry's hair, mussing it, using his other arm to fend off the tickling. 

Ron rolled, coming up over Harry, who stopped quite suddenly and stared up at him. Ron shifted, bit his lip, then ruffled Harry's hair one last time. He mumbled, "no difference, anyway" and got up. 

Harry rose as well, a little more slowly. He scanned the clearing and realized Ron had already done all the packing up. "Hey," he said. "Thanks." 

"I figured we could get going faster this way, and you could get more sleep." 

"What about you?" Harry asked. "Didn't you want to sleep?" 

Ron paused, as though deciding how to answer. "Couldn't." 

"Why not?" 

Ron ignored him, and Harry didn't ask again. Instead, he shoulder one of the packs, pulled a roll of parchment out of one of the pockets in his robes, and said to Ron, "Coming?" 

They spent the better part of the morning cataloging plants and animals. They stopped briefly to prune a Flutterby bush, reasoning that if Harry's theory was right and there was a teacher watching, the extra work couldn't hurt. It was a frustrating job, trying to cut the ends off the trembling bush. Harry pocketed a twig, and wrote the name down on his parchment. 

They were also delayed when Ron stopped to rest against a tree, not realizing it was guarded by a Bowtruckle. With Harry's help he fended off the territorial little creature. While Harry worked to free Ron from the Botruckle's tiny claws, he tried to reassure it that they meant no harm, much to his friend's amusement. "Well, you can't tell just what understands you in the wizarding world, can you?" Harry asked, defensively. 

When they stopped for lunch they accidentally picked a spot near a Devil's Snare. They didn't discover it until it had wrapped it's soft, springy tendrils around Harry's leg and neck. Luckily they remembered the plant from first year, and Ron dispatched it easily with a Bluebell charm. "You know," Ron said, as they got ready to begin again, "this is almost too easy. Is it going to be like this the whole time?" 

"Maybe," said Harry, but he doubted it. He remembered the hellhound from the night before. 

Ron didn't seem to hear him, however. "We're obviously doing something wrong. But we won't know. We'll just think we're doing well, and when we fail, it will be that much worse." 

Harry gave Ron a puzzled look. "Don't think like that." 

"Don't worry," Ron said, "it's not that bad. Being a failure, I mean. You get used to it, when you have five older brothers who are better than you are." 

Harry stopped abruptly and turned to Ron. "Don't **say** that," he replied fiercely. "You're just as good as your brothers - you're as good as anyone. Better." 

"It doesn't matter what you think," Ron waved him away. Harry stood, hurt and disbelieving, as he continued. "What do you matter, anyway? You're just Harry Potter. Other people may think that's something special, but I know better. Live, die, there's no difference what you do. No difference. And even less difference for me. Who cares what happens to me?" 

"I care, Ron," Harry said, bringing his hand to Ron's neck, forcing the taller boy meet his eyes. "Ron - " When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were bloody. 

"It doesn't matter - " Ron said again, not bothering to swat at a bug that landed on his nose and began to crawl across his face. Harry gasped, recognizing it for what it was - a magical insect that induced melancholy. 

"Ron - stay here - " 

Harry ran desperately through the woods, searching for the Alihotsy plant. It was the only thing he could think of to counteract the glumbumble gnat that had been preying on Ron. But it was difficult to search, distracted as he was by worry. Could Ron become so melancholy he was in danger of depressing himself to death? 

A flash of the Alihotsy's familiar coloring caught his eye and he breathed a sigh of relief, thanking Hermione for her insistence that they take herbology all seven years. This particular antidote was something they'd learned a mere month before, and it was still fresh in his memory. Grabbing it, he ran back to where Ron was sitting, eyes closed, covered by glumbumbles. Harry rushed to his side, startling the bugs away. 

"'sokay, Harry," Ron mumbled. "No point to it." 

"Yes," Harry forced through clenched teeth, "there is. Now eat this, you stupid prat, eat it!" 

Ron opened his mouth obediently, too listless to resist, but Harry had to stroke his throat in order to make him swallow. Ron didn't move for a long moment. Then, his eyes fluttered open, and Harry saw something weary but powerful in them. "Harry," was all he said. 

"Thank Merlin," Harry breathed. He wanted just to sit there with Ron and let the relief pulse through his veins, but the gnats were coming at them again. "Up," he told Ron, pulling him out of the clearing. 

"What was that?" Ron asked, rubbing his neck. "I just felt so - all of a sudden so - " 

"Melancholy?" Harry suggested. "Here, take out your parchment. Put down glumbumbles." 

Ron looked as though he was trying to remember something, but whether it was the Magical Creatures lesson or the scene in the clearing, Harry couldn't be sure. "Glumbumbles?" Ron asked finally, his voice weak. 

"Yes." 

"I didn't say anything, you know - mad, did I?" 

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Part of him wanted to forget it all. Part of him knew that glumbumbles fed upon what was already there. "No - not really. But, Ron, you know - you're not a failure. Not at all. I don't care what Snape or Trelawney says." 

Ron's ears went pink. "Thanks," he said softly. Then, "Mad. Yup." 

"It was - " Harry decided not to finish. How could he say what he was feeling, that it had been like a nightmare, that he had suspected and dreaded his friend harbored the emotions behind it for a long time? "We should - " 

"Harry - " 

"Come on, then," said Harry. "Gotta make up time." 

Leaving the experience with the glumbumbles as far behind as they could, they made their way along the path, gathering samples, writing down the names of animals, and, of course, talking about Quidditch. 

"And so all these years of comparing the Cannons to the Banchory Bangers," Ron spat out the name of the worst Quidditch team in history, "and we've finally got a shot at the finals! Looks like crossing our fingers and hoping for the best worked, eh?" 

"It was signing Dunster that did it," Harry said knowledgeably. "Needed a seeker that wasn't half blind." 

"Hey!" cried Ron, offended on behalf of a Cannons player that wasn't even on the team anymore. 

"Hey or not, they didn't have a chance with him." 

Ron decided to steer the subject in a different direction. "Aren't you glad you picked the Cannons as your favorite team, now?" Harry nearly rolled his eyes. With Ron for a best friend, it wasn't like he'd had much of a choice. "Aren't you, Harry?" 

Harry nodded. "Ron, I don't know how to tell you this - it's - I - no, it's too hard - " 

Ron looked at him intently. "Harry - what is it? You can tell me anything..." 

"I'm - I'm - " 

"You're - ?" Ron held himself absolutely still. 

Harry sniffed. "A Ballycastle Bats fan." 

The range of emotions that crossed Ron's face was extensive - and really quite impressive. Shock, disappointment, anger, a grudging admiration at the joke, each flashed in his eyes and disappeared. Finally he muttered, "Well, I'm not getting you **Flying With the Bats**, that's for certain." 

He walked ahead, effectively ending the conversation, to Harry's puzzlement. They went almost a half hour in silence, until Ron broke it with a startled cry - one that quickly gave way to laughter. Hurrying up behind him, Harry recognized the bouncing bulbs they had once had to replant in Herbology class. They hopped and skidded along the path, looking like tiny bludgers, banging into trees and stones and, once, Ron's shin. His chuckles ceased abruptly. 

While Ron rubbed his leg and muttered a curse on all things magical, Harry tried to decide what to do with the bulbs. They could replant them, a task which might take until sunset with only the two of them, or send them flying into the woods, which was more efficient but probably not what the professors had in mind. Or - 

"Ron, do you think you could levitate me?" 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at a problem avoided as Ron gently lifted him into the air. When he reached the other side, he brought Ron over, halting him before his feet hit the ground and asking, "What if I just left you there?" 

Ron wiggled his feet and shrugged. "I'm helpless before you, Harry." 

Harry grinned and set him back on the ground. "That was easy," he said. He spotted a stream a little ways ahead. "Maybe we should do the same for that stream?" 

"Whatever you think." 

"Maybe we should poke around a bit? See if there are any water-dwelling creatures we could write down?" 

"I said, whatever you think." 

"You're not still mad at me, are you, Ron?" Harry asked as they came up to the stream. It was dank and smelly but stirring with life. 

"Mad at you for what?" Ron said innocently. 

"I don't know!" Harry replied. "You tell me." He grabbed a stick and poked it viciously into the water. 

"You're the one whose accusing me of being mad - " 

"Ron - " 

"No, I'm serious, there's a burden of proof here." 

"Ron - !" 

"I learned that much from Buckbeak's appeal, if you're gonna say I'm mad then - " 

"Ron!" cried Harry. A creature from the water had grabbed him, yanking down his leg, causing him to stumble beneath the surface. Harry jumped in after him, trying to see his friend among the swerving tentacles and thrashing legs. 

There was a flash of red hair as Ron broke up out of the water, gasping. A long rope of green was wrapped around his neck. He choked and struggled, and fell back in - 

Harry's hands were too slow to catch him, so they went for his wand. He pointed it at the river and screamed with desperation the drought charm that he had learned in preparation for the Tournament fourth year. He did not have time to reflect on the irony that once again trying to rescue from below water the thing which he'd miss most. 

The river steamed and disappeared. Fish flopped helplessly on the damp land. The creature shriveled and loosened its tentacles from Ron, who lay unmoving on the ground. 

Suddenly, Ron began to cough. Harry ran to him, knelt next to him and pulled a string of water weed off his cheek. "Harry!" Ron gasped, spitting riverwater out of his mouth. "What happened? What was that, mate?" 

"You're - you're all right then?" Harry asked when he was done. 

"Yes. What was it?" 

"I don't know. Some type of lake monster. Maybe even a Dark one..." Harry paused a long moment. "A trap, maybe?" 

"Dumbledore sent us out here, in case you've forgot," said Ron, regaining his bearings. "And there aren't many people I'm sure aren't in league with You-Know-Who, but Dumbledore's one of them, right after you and my mum." 

Harry laughed. "I guess you're right. It's only - with all the fighting we've done at Hogwarts... it's second nature to blame Voldemort for stuff like this. I can't believe nothing's happened this year. I was expecting - I dunno - " 

"You-Know-Who to come blasting into the school, killing Muggle-borns and challenging you to a Quidditch match?" 

"That's about right." 

Harry stood up, giving Ron a hand to clamber up after him. They stared at the riverbed. "You know what, Harry?" said Ron after a moment. "Maybe you should put the water back." 

Harry nodded and began reversing the spell. As he did so, Ron found a large, flat stone that was well away from the river but still bathed by sunlight. He lay down for a moment, aching and wet. He closed his eyes. 

Harry returned and sat beside him, a bit weary himself. Ron had fallen asleep, and Harry watched him, as his red hair dried and his cheeks regained their color. Ron looked sweeter, younger while he was resting, and Harry was content to look at him for a while, but eventually grew bored. 

_Hermione and Neville probably entered the forest a little while ago,_ he mused. Suddenly a thought struck Harry, and his eyes gleamed. He dug into his pocket and took out a parchment and small quill. 

'Hermione - ' he wrote. 'How are you? Run into anything with tentacles or pointy teeth yet? We have. There seems to be rather large three headed dog following us. Any ideas on what to do? Ron's sleeping. A plant just tried to have him for lunch. Harry.' 

He folded the parchment carefully up. And then he preformed a particular type of banishing charm, which Hermione had once made him learn. 

The parchment came zooming back a few minutes later, only it was strangely red. As it quivered before him, Harry realized to his horror that Hermione somehow knew how to form a makeshift Howler. 

_What is she doing?_ he thought, panicked. _She'll wake the whole forest! Or at least Ron._

Knowing it wouldn't help to wait, he opened it. 

"HARRY POTTER!" Hermione's voice screamed, so loud the nearby branches shook. Ron sat bolt upright, muttering sleepily, 

"'Mione? That you?" 

"HARRY POTTER! HOW DARE YOU TRY TO CHEAT ON YOUR NEWTs! HOW DARE YOU ATTEMPT TO EMBROIL ME IN YOUR SCHEME! I DON'T CARE IF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN HIMSELF IS STEALING YOUR PARCHMENTS, THAT'S NO EXCUSE FOR CHEATING!" 

Harry and Ron looked at eachother. 

"I think she's a bit mad at you, Harry - " 

"AND RON! SLEEPING! MAKING HARRY DO ALL THE WORK! NO WONDER HE HAS TO COME BEGGING FOR MY HELP! SHAPE UP!" 

Harry grinned. "I don't think she's all together too pleased with you, either, Ron." 

The howler was not finished, although there was a long pause. Then came a sound like a whisper, although magnified it still hurt their ears. "DON'T DO THAT AGAIN, GUYS, PLEASE?" It was Neville. "SHE'S REALLY SCARING ME." 

The boys, finding a howler wasn't half as bad without a whole school of people to hear you recieve it, gathered up the bits and pieces as the makeshift howler tore itself inexpertly up. Harry apologized on Hermione's behalf for waking Ron up, but he waved it off. "Shouldn't have slept that long, anyway." 

Picking up their things, they levetated themselves over the river, then picked a path and followed it for several minutes. Harry noticed Ron getting tenser and tenser until finally the other boy turned and began, 

"I didn't want to say this before, Harry, but - " 

"But what?" 

"I get the feeling like we're being followed." 

Harry jerked his head around in the direction they had come. He saw nothing, not flowers crunched by invisible feet, not the beady eyes of McGonagall in tabbycat form. "It could be anything - " he said to Ron. "Professor or dark wizard... or even a student..." 

"Like Malfoy?" 

"Or Hermione." 

"Oi!" Ron shouted out suddenly. Harry winced and covered his ears as Ron continued. "If you're Malfoy, you'd better show your face, you bloody prat! And if you're a Profesor then - then - you ought to be fired for letting me almost drown before! Show yourself, you gits!" 

"Ron!" Harry said. "And what if that was Hermione?" 

"Then she'll be bursting into this clearing any moment now, to scold me for my language." 

Harry nodded his assent. He wasn't about to argue with Ron, who he suspected was still cranky from being woken up before. "Do you think you can travel some more, or should we stop here?" 

"Let's keep moving. We've got daylight, still." 

Harry glanced warily around. "Have your eyes open. I don't want any more surprises." 

"Right." 

They continued, weary and unsettled, finally understanding the "Nastily Exhausting" in N.E.W.T. Ron paused every once in a while to pick weeds out of his hair, while Harry glanced around worriedly. There was an edginess to their chatter, when they did speak. Before - before they had felt safe in Harry's guess that there were teachers following and grading and protecting them. But now they knew they were alone, and if something was trailing them, in probably wasn't friendly. 

The sun was anxious to get down past the trees, and the day began to gray, then burn. Yellows and pinks lit up the parts of the sky that they could see. The wind picked up, brushing past the tree trunks, bringing a chill, and Harry caught the scent of something terrible. He tried to call ahead to Ron, but his friend was plowing determinedly on, cutting away branches from the path and peering about for animals. There were footsteps behind him, and Harry thought he really ought to turn and look - 

And if he did? If he turned and saw that yet another cloud of darkness was hovering above him, ready to engulf those he loved? Who was it this time who sought to kill him? A teacher? A classmate? One of his father's friends? Good people were loved by those they lived and worked with, but Harry was abandoned, helpless, undeserving. And so what if something stalked him? He was worthless; he had no chance against it. He might as well succumb to the darkness already inside of him. 

It was really quite hopeless... 

The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled up in his head was the flash of teeth. 

* 

He was weeping as he awoke, pushing past the darkness behind his eyelids, which still blurred his vision as he took in a terrified face. All he remembered was the feeling of hopelessness which had overwhelmed him, the sudden understanding of the futility of his life. The futility of fighting. The futility of even attempting to love. There was blood on his arms and his fingertips, and he knew it was his own, and wondered when the source would run dry and if it would be soon. 

"Stop it!" someone hissed. "I chased it off. Harry - Harry, look at me - " 

The despair began to drain away, yet Harry followed it, searching for the relief his parents had once found. What was there to keep him in this world besides danger and violence, why should he try to stay? He looked up at the thing in front of him and asked it - "Please, I want to die... help me die..." 

The hands that were shaking his shoulders released him, and he fell back against the ground, his head banging against the hard-packed dirt. The stars that jumped before his eyes dispelled the last of the darkness. He squinted, recognized the person before him. "Ron?" he murmured, lost. "Ron, I'm okay..." 

"Don't ever - ever ask me - " and now Ron was crying between words, his face crumpled and closed. Harry went to him, placed a hand on his back, but Ron shuddered and yanked himself away. He faced the forest, hands crossed upon his chest. He shoulders shook. 

"Ron, I - " 

"Why!" he shouted, spinning around. He wiped at his face furiously. "You bloody - you bastard - you - " 

"Ron, what is it?" 

"What is it?" Ron yelled, his face a mask of anger. His fear and pain showed only through his eyes, which still leaked tears. "What **is** it? You bloody asked me to kill you!" 

"I don't know why - " 

"You have a better idea of it than I do! After everything - after all we've done - you just want to give up - ?" 

"I don't." 

"That's what you said! It was attacking you, and you weren't even fighting it, and when I chased it away and woke you up all you could say was 'help me die'?" 

"I didn't - something attacked me?" 

"Yes! Yes, you git, something attacked you. That thing that was following us. It was small with nasty little teeth and you could've taken care of it in a second, but you just let it - let it **eat** you - " 

"A pogrebin," Harry breathed. "It was a pogrebin." He began to laugh. 

That, far more than Ron's rage, banished the despair from his mind. _It wasn't real_, he thought, _wasn't real_. 

"What are you **on** about?" 

"A pogrebin - don't you remember? From Defense Against the Dark Arts? Like a boggart, except instead of taking the form of the things you fear, it makes you believe the fears you harbor inside yourself. It makes you hopeless..." 

"Oh, yeah. I remember." Then, "But aren't they from America or something?" 

"Not America. I think - China or Russia or somewhere. But not here. It was **put** here." And just as suddenly as his laughter had begun, it stopped. 

Ron stared at him, aghast. "Put here - you mean we're under attack? Again?" 

"Again." Harry pointed up to the quickly darkening sky, then busied himself with his things, giving Ron a chance to collect himself. "We might as well camp here. No wood-gathering this time. And we can take watches." 

Ron nodded, and bent down to rummage through his pack. He pulled out a small can and tossed it to Harry, saying with a brave attempt at normalcy, "You want to get dinner, this time?" 

Harry engorgio'd the can, then started a fire, a bluebell flame that each could keep alive during the watches. He levitated the can over it, allowing the food inside to cook. He heard Ron mutter charms and curses, nearly a dozen of them, wards and traps. He didn't place the silencing charm, however. 

"Why no silence?" Harry asked as he handed Ron his dinner. Ron took it eagerly. 

"We'll have time enough when we're taking watches. I mean - I'm just not up for talking about Quidditch, or a game of Exploding Snap. I'm exhausted." 

"Understandably," Harry said. He ate quickly, as hungry as Ron was tired, although Ron put away the meal pretty quickly as well. They both shot nervous glances into the forest, as if expecting a Death Eater or a werewolf to walk in at any moment. Ron was sneaking anxious looks at Harry as well. Harry suspected it was for yelling at him before. 

Harry felt his own guilt about the incident. He couldn't imagine how Ron must have felt when Harry asked his friend to kill him. Finishing up his meal, he decided to broach the subject. 

"Ron, I'm sorry about before," he said, getting right to the point. 

"You were - it was the pogrebin, not you - " 

"Yes and no. It - I think it feeds on what's already there." Harry bowed his head at the admission. 

"Bloody - Harry - you really want to - " 

"No! But sometimes I do feel like it's too much. Some of the things we've seen, Ron, they'd make anyone want to die." 

"But you don't have to tell me you're sorry. You could've said it to anyone, right?" 

"It just makes it worse, that I asked it of you. You, of all people, when - " Harry faltered. "You - " 

It was as though neither of them breathed. Then Ron said carefully, "What do you mean?" 

"You're my best friend, Ron. You make me laugh. Even when the rest of the school hates me, or I've just been a horrible git, or when Sirius and Hermione are telling me to 'be careful!' and it feels like the world's gonna end tomorow - you can make me laugh. Make me happy, at least for a little while." 

"I can?" 

Harry couldn't understand the doubt in his friend's face. Why had they never said this before? "Why not? Maybe 'Mione's smarter than us, and I've gotten nearly killed more often than the both of you, but you've always been the better friend - the best friend - and Ron, you know you were the first friend I ever had - the first person I ever loved - " Harry stopped, embarassed, his face flaming. He added softly, "I do." 

"Love me?" Ron almost mouthed it. He stood still for a long time, just looking at Harry, like he never expected the words. The silence stretched onwards. 

"Please, Ron, say something," urged Harry, finally. "You must be better at this than I am. You've loved people before." 

Ron eyes - changed, somehow. "I have?" 

"Yes - your family. Hermione. And - " Harry stopped again. 

Ron said it as thought it was extraordinarily painful. "And you." 

_Is that all he has to say?_ Harry thought, dismayed. _After the fool I made out of myself? I thought after seven years it was okay to love a best friend..._

Even the suspicion that Ron might not feel the same way was enough to send him teetering back into darkness. "Forget it," he said roughly. "Forget I said anything." 

"Harry - " 

"No, forget it. Don't say what you don't mean. Go to bed. I'll take the first watch." 

"Harry - " 

"No." 

In the end Ron walked from the fire, and Harry heard rustling sounds as he got into the Cot. Even as he strained to see into the darkness, to watch for an attack, he was most aware of his friend as he tossed and turned and tried to fall asleep. 

_Why does it matter so much?_ he asked himself, but he knew the answer. Ron was his first friend, his last hope, the person who was meant more to him than anything... 

Harry sat silently for so long that the moon moved noticeably across the sky. When he got up to stretch, his feet brought him to the Cot, where the matress was pressed in by an invisible body. Harry drew the Invisibility Cloak back. 

His face was dirty, his red hair messy on the pillow, but the look on his face was one of sweetness and peace. And Harry felt so separate, so rejected, so lonely, that it was all he could do not to crawl into Ron's bed and hold him so tightly they became one - one person, with no room left between them for Ron's uncaring or Harry's fear... 

_Where did that come from?_ he asked himself, shaken. He knew he should replace the Cloak and go away. But the fire and the fighting had left him heated and reckless, and he drew the Cloak back further, revealing the lines of Ron's body. His robe slipped open at the chest. Harry reached out and almost touched that smooth expanse of skin, before he came to his senses and hastily pulled his hand away. 

Harry didn't understand what he was feeling, only knew what he wanted something, and that it was terribly far away. When it was his time to rest, he shook Ron awake, and took his spot without a word. He fell asleep, burrowed in Ron's neglected warmth. 

* 

_ Hermione had taken charge of both protecting them and serving them dinner. Neville watched her, sitting uselessly on a log, full of awe as she managed several charms at once. A pan levitated over the fire, which Hermione periodically brightened with an Incendio spell, while she gazed off into the eaves of the forest and made pointed incantations. _

"Desinidor! Confundo! ... what do you think, Neville? Is that a good one to use?" 

She was just saying it to be nice. Everyone knew he was useless. Sure, he had been able to spot some plants, but his partner was Hermione Granger_. She needed help with her work about as often as Draco Malfoy needed someone to boost his self-esteem. _

Neville shuddered at the thought of the bullying Slytherin, and changed the direction of his thoughts. 

Merlin, he hoped he didn't have the nightmares tonight. Usually he waited until the other boys in his dormitory fell asleep before putting up a spell which blocked the sound of his cries - it was one of the only spells he'd managed, and that after long practice. But Hermione was smarter than that. She'd notice if he used it. She'd ask questions. What could he say? That he screamed himself awake and then cried himself to sleep, almost every night? 

That's why he had worked so hard to master the silencing spell. If anyone knew about his nightmares, Neville could only imagine the round of mocking jokes... 

But would Hermione laugh? 

Somehow, Neville didn't think she would. Somehow, Neville knew that if he was going to tell anyone about his parents, it should be her. Somehow, a long while back, Neville had figured out that he was in love. 

And somehow, he understood that it was hopeless. 

He got up, staring out at the woods, so he wouldn't have to look at her and feel so heartbroken. 

Hermione finished boiling dinner, raising the pan up high over the fire so it would simmer. She turned to look at Neville, who was staring out into the woods, his hands clenched and his shoulders shaking. She knew she should let him help her more, but she didn't want to hurt her grade - 

Besides, she knew how he felt about her, and didn't want to encourage him. Neville was a nice boy, more attentive than Ron, and he shared more of her interests than Harry did. But he lacked that spark. That nobility. 

Her friends didn't understand that it had been Gilderoy Lockhart's tales of bravery which had caused her infatuation, not his good looks. She didn't care any more for a handsome face than the next girl. It was strength, it was honor, it was the Gryffindor spirit that she loved most of all in people. 

It had attracted her to Harry, and then to Ron. And she could tell herself over and over again that Neville was brave enough to risk his life for a friend, but it was different than seeing Ron tell a convicted murderer he'd have to go through him to get to Harry, different than seeing Harry fight against incredible odds - it was just different. 

It wasn't logical. She couldn't find the reason for it in a textbook. It just was. 

"Hermione - " Neville began softly, and she thought it was tenderness, and pretended she hadn't heard. When he screamed, though, she knew it was fright. 

"Oh, no - " was all Hermione had time to say, before she was silenced. 

* 


End file.
